YWPWYLFDM 27

Chapter 27

“Oh dear…”

Letting out a groan far too old-fashioned for a fourteen-year-old boy, Prince Winfred of the Pelles Empire rose from his seat.

He hadn’t noticed it yesterday, but after rolling around on the ground, his back ached. Not just his back—he had small bruises and scratches scattered here and there.

The head attendant had scolded him endlessly after seeing his injuries. Normally, being scolded when already hurting would make anyone feel miserable, but oddly enough, Winfred wasn’t in the least upset.

On any other day, he would have fired back witty banter at the head attendant’s rapid-fire nagging—lines like, “How dare you!” or “Yes, yes, it was a crime worthy of death, forgive me.” But now, he seemed oddly absent-minded, almost dazed.

Even while changing clothes, and even now while sitting at the table having breakfast.

It was as if he couldn’t tell whether the spoonful of soup he lifted was heading toward his mouth or his nose. Sometimes he even miscalculated, putting an empty spoon into his mouth.

“Your Highness, are you truly feeling unwell? Shall I call for a physician right away?”

The attendant was genuinely worried that perhaps Winfred had struck his head while rolling on the ground.

“Huh? What did you say?”

But Winfred didn’t even hear the words of concern.

He wasn’t injured anywhere, yet he knew something was strange.

Aila Heilring. The image of that girl named Aila kept surfacing in his mind.

From the very first meeting, she had been mysterious. A girl who had suddenly fallen from the sky, silver hair sparkling as though not of this world, hastily covering his mouth.

Appearing out of nowhere, then vanishing just as suddenly—Winfred had half-believed a moonlit fairy had come and gone.

And then, their reunion after a week.

How startled he had been when a rough hand suddenly seized him out of nowhere, dragging him along. For the first time in his life, he had felt true danger to his life.

And how deeply relieved he had been when he realized whose hand it was.

It was all very strange. She was just a girl he had met once by chance, and for no more than a fleeting few minutes.

And yet, the moment he saw her, his heart felt at ease. Somehow, he just knew—she would never hurt him.

Even when he saw the assassin aiming for him, he strangely felt everything would be all right.

She was small and delicate—though stronger than him, truth be told—yet she gave him the illusion that an entire army was protecting him.

At the same time, he wanted to protect her.

Not her visible, physical wounds, but the unseen ones. She seemed to carry so many of them. When Aila looked sad, it felt like his chest was being squeezed tight. When she smiled faintly, he wanted to shield that smile from all harm.

A mysterious girl who made him feel both protected and protective at once.

Every gesture, every expression of hers replayed endlessly in his mind, leaving no room for other thoughts.

“…Your Highness, are you truly all right?”

The head attendant, standing beside him, wore an expression of near panic. Normally, they would have exchanged playful jabs, but Winfred’s condition left no room for jokes.

Though not bound by blood, this attendant was closer than any uncle could be. Seeing the worry in his face, Winfred forced himself to shake off Aila’s image.

It was time to tackle the task she had given him.

“Oh? Yeah, I’m fine. No need for a doctor. Call for Sir Dexen instead. I have something important to discuss with her.”

“Pardon? You mean Sir Dexen? Very well, Your Highness.”

Just moments ago, Winfred had seemed vacant and lost, yet now he requested, with sudden seriousness, the presence of Lady Alexia Dexen, the captain of the guard responsible for the procession’s security.

Joseph, the head attendant, realized something serious was afoot and nodded.

“You summoned me, Your Highness.”

A tall woman in her mid-thirties bowed respectfully before Winfred.

Alexia Dexen—the younger sister of the Dexen family head, vassals to the Duke of Weisshafen. She had trained in swordsmanship alongside Roderick under the late Duke of Weisshafen and was a knight of no small repute.

Her only son, Bradley, was close in age to Winfred, making her presence a little intimidating for him. She was a strict mother to her son, and equally strict toward the prince.

But today was no time to dwell on personal feelings. As the future Crown Prince, he had matters that needed resolving.

“Thank you for coming, Sir Dexen. I called because I need your counsel.”

“Please, speak, Your Highness.”

Bolstered by her calm, warm tone despite her bluntness, Winfred gathered courage to continue.

“Well, last night I…”

He trailed off, finding it difficult to admit aloud his little escapade.

It had been no thoughtless whim. Before becoming Crown Prince, he had wanted to see firsthand how the empire’s people lived, to experience their lives with his own eyes.

True, he had also been stubborn from being dragged back and scolded every time he tried—but his intentions had been sincere.

Still, he feared Alexia’s wrath. Not only was she a fellow student of his sword master, the Duke of Weisshafen, but also the mother of his close friend.

“…I already heard that you slipped out in secret, Your Highness.”

His hesitation had been pointless. The head attendant had already tattled. Winfred sighed.

“I see… well, the truth is… while I was out last night, I encountered an assassin. It was nearly a disaster. I haven’t told anyone else yet.”

Winfred clenched his eyes shut as he spoke. A secret excursion alone was enough to alarm everyone—adding an assassin into the mix would surely cause an uproar.

As expected, Alexia’s eyes widened.

Winfred braced himself, gripping his robe, ready to accept her wrath—and to beg her not to punish the attendants for his mistake.

But instead of scolding, she said gently:

“…Are you unharmed, Your Highness?”

Startled by the warmth in her voice, Winfred blinked slowly.

It was true he had done something unworthy of a prince. Yet Alexia, seeing the boy before her, could only feel a mother’s concern.

The Empress had been frail and unable to bear more children, and the Emperor, devoted to her, had never sought another woman. Winfred had grown up alone, the sole heir destined to inherit the throne, carrying a crushing burden since childhood.

To think that this lonely boy, who had sneaked out for a breath of freedom, had nearly lost his life…

Comfort came first, not scolding.

“I am all right. Fortunately, I escaped unharmed.”

Winfred scratched his cheek, embarrassed. He had expected a storm of reprimands, not kind concern.

“The gods must have protected you. Still, now you understand how dangerous it is to wander the streets alone at night. Please, never do so again, Your Highness.”

“Yes, Sir Dexen.”

Winfred smiled awkwardly and nodded. Time to speak of the real issue.

“…The truth is, someone helped me. And that person told me who sent the assassin. They said it was… ‘that man.’”

“…And who would ‘that man’ be?”

“Byron Lionel Vito Pelles.”

At the name, Alexia’s brows furrowed. If this was true, it was no trivial matter.

“Who gave you this information? Can they be trusted?”

“…Well…”

Winfred hesitated. Should he speak of Aila? Would Alexia even believe him?

It wasn’t a matter of whether Aila was trustworthy—he simply wanted to protect her secrets.

“I cannot say.”

Stubbornly, Winfred kept his mouth shut. Aila was a girl shrouded in mystery, and he wanted to safeguard her secrets. He also wanted to keep their precious moments to himself.

“…Very well.”

Loyal Alexia pressed no further, though whether the information could be trusted was a separate concern.

Winfred was the sole heir, the future Crown Prince. Byron was indeed a likely suspect in such a plot—but there were plenty of others who would benefit from his death.

“Do you remember the assassin’s face, Your Highness?”

She changed the line of questioning, seeking verification instead of the source. But Winfred shook his head.

“I only caught a glimpse from a distance. All I remember is… they had ash-gray hair.”

Ash-gray hair. Not enough to identify someone. Alexia frowned slightly.

“…Ah, that reminds me.”

While she was deep in thought, Winfred clapped softly, as if recalling something.

“The dagger he carried—it looked rather unusual, somehow distinctive.”

He picked up a quill and began sketching on a sheet of paper.

Alexia leaned in quickly, eager to see what kind of dagger could be so unique.